Authentication
by AsphyxiatedAngel
Summary: "He's named himself, even given himself a face.Don't pity that clown,there is no one on this planet with more control over their life than the Joker.The only chance you have against him is to play the fool." Exploring insanity and morality OCxJoker/Batman
1. Distracted

The light that Harvey Dent emitted was seen by every hopeful eye, for once; the sarcasm began to cease. The Batman could only do so much, he could only save them, scrape the city of Gotham off the tar and paste it against the wall. But it was Dent, that could glow, Dent's was the image that could water and care for a brighter Gotham, for enlightenment. The man waving the gun at Gordon's son, his lifeline; was twisted into something different, a invaluable work of art splintered into streams of canvas, Gotham's white Knight. He no longer glowed from an inner light, he burned and writhed in the flames forced inside his every orifice.

Perhaps he would sympathize with the man at a later time, given his ability to do so only previous to this. But turning his wretched features to the dirt, the familiar bile rose in his throat almost afraid it would show in the words that left his lips. For all he could currently feel was regret.

Regret, physical pain, and then…nothing.

He had been strangely glad to run. It felt, in a way, liberation to be crucified. To be given up, to have no one expect anything of you. What hadn't felt good was the sudden wrenching pain in his legs. In his minds eye, he could see his bones moving, grinding, then lifting, and then scraping against each other with ever stride in his escape.

Then came the dogs. Barreling dogs who didn't care what had been a noble deed, and who didn't have the chance for any failure except that of their masters. The master's being the officers currently chasing him on foot, no doubt.

The feel of the motorcycle between his thighs did nothing to ease the world that was already spinning. He avoided pillars too late, the tips of his fingers and his legs numb underneath, his tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Unable to focus, the dark knights mind whirred beneath his faux face. He guessed, that this was what it would feel like, if he ingested the color gray.

At one point, he could no longer explain if it was him, his bike, or the back streets of Gotham that were wobbling violently to his already offended form. He'd barley had time to still the machine in realization for him to fall bodily to the ground, his vision not following the laws of physics that his head should allow given it seemed to roll all the way up. Further, and further into his skull, and the man beneath the mask found that his irises had disappeared into his head, and all the left was gray.

He drifted into a scenario of his mind's own creation. No longer able to remember how he'd arrived here, his response thoroughly lacked emotion by observing the highway, and the seemingly endless sands that surrounded it. The desert. But he'd never seen a desert when it was cloudy. The shades of neutrals were intensified without the light to merit them real saturation.

But he had nothing to do, so he waited.

Until the roar of a very familiar sound started approaching him at an alarming rate. His own batcar bearing down on him with strangely wild determination, it's headlights having been a gaze locked onto his form. His hand went out to stop the car, but not to dodge, thinking he still had power over it. But the realization of seeing the skin of his forearm and hand bared to him, was the shocking revelation that he was no longer in the bat suit. And the vehicle wasn't going to stop for Bruce Wayne.

The growl of the motor had forced his mind away from the false reality, spilling him into one that tended to hurt a whole lot more. Strangely enough, the rumble of sound seemed to follow him, his shoulders and arms tensed up when he realized there was an immense canine over him. Assuming that it was more than likely keeping watch over him to verify his hunt, the bat also cursed his fate bitterly. Why was it always dogs lately?

"Man, put that fucking thing away, it's pissing it off!"

"Well, what the- _what the hell am I supposed to __**do**_? Man you know there's two of us and one of him, just keep my fucking back man."

"It's not **worth **it. This is _trouble"_

The conversation was seemingly going in the wrong direction. Pissing who off? Everything was in water, he could no longer assume that he was in the dark or whether his vision was two shakes from failing yet again. He was on the ground, he knew because of the awful taste in his mouth that could only be identified as passing out in the filth of Gotham's underbelly. But these were not the words of a trained officer. Finally forced to pry open an eye, he realized that there was no vicious animal baring down on him, but he had a marvelous view of his rear end. This discovery was soon followed by the fact that the dog was standing between him and the men who were talking. The pair were equally diversified in race to the point where batman couldn't tell of any descent save for them both being from the city and no doubt local residences. Eyes drifting down to glance at the body language he found the first one who spoke was the one looking incredulously at the other who was only half through pulling a gun from his pocket. Upon testing the mutt in front of him, he'd then proceeded to attempt to even tighten his hold on the weapon causing the dog to raise his shackles, the sound that came from him produced chills. He could now even hear the fevered breathing of the two men and stretched his mental capacity to the rest of his body.

Uncomfortably sticking to the suit were the battle injuries he acquired over this hell of a day, and he was sure something was broken, or at least a large ripped muscle in his back. The alarm stemmed from elsewhere. He didn't have the clearest memory of what happened before he'd toppled off his bike but he was absolutely positive that he had, in fact; been near his bike when that happened. So where was his bike? Subtly trying to move his head to create a better knowledge of the situation he found he was no longer out in the back streets or even an alley. But what appeared to be an open skeleton of a building. This find was stumped completely by the choking pain flowering beneath his neck. At where his collar bone met the stretch of his shoulder, had instantly flamed. The sound of a gunshot was enough to pull him out of his reverie, and he waited with his nose barley sticking out above the dark water of sleep. The dog, did not fall like he'd expected and within the extent of the crack that resounded off the lonely unused walls he was currently encased in, several things happened.

Before the echo even had time to respond to the vicious sound, the dog had lept up into the air grabbing hold of the offender's leg. Body shutting down in it's stubborn pursuit of health, he numbly observed as the second stranger raised his pistol to fire it into the dog, the sound of shock emitting from a wide opened mouth as it ripped him down, his skull smacking hard against the concrete made to serve as a floor. Falling back into his mind, the bat watched idly and feeling without purpose as another shot rang true, though from a different area. A woman entered the mix, with an forced tone, hoarse as the bark of the canine.

"Don't touch my dog!"


	2. RSVP

He'd had worse than this. He could feel himself want to get up, to move. To check his injuries; but most importantly, to stand up. Resurfacing in the world of the living had been a disorienting process. He'd felt that strange traveling sensation, like his body was being dragged across the ground. Comically enough; this time the sensation was based off truth. The snort of the dog's snout so close to his ear was heard through a filter that his mind had no doubt installed of it's own accord. A dog was dragging him. His six foot frame was being strewn across and moved by a dog? Well sure, it was a big dog but…Oh, that was why. The canine wasn't his only unassigned tow truck. The pull on his right was thankfully absent of whiskers. Attempting to skim through his previous consciousness he found himself disappointed to recall he couldn't find who the hell was dragging him. Yet, the memory of being injured, of pain, now that was Chrystal clear. So why couldn't he sense the stings, pulls, and throbbing of his body now? It was an Algebra test at six thirty in the morning, it was Tetris while he was drunk, it was a memory clouded by infuriating packing peanuts; and somehow it was fine. He could easily write the movement off as drifting across the ground.

His previous experience of what he thought was consciousness must have been a delusion built by his brain. For the next time Batman graced the world with his grim open stare, he most certainly felt the pain of his injuries. The room was dark save for two candles by the bedside that illuminated a glass of water which was ignored. Instead, the mind beneath the mask set to work. The room was clean without any offending stenches and his eyes were already well adjusted to the dark which was almost a regret given the shadow of the dog in a mostly dark room had been enough to give him a start that clenched all the muscles in his upper body in preparation to rise immediately. Fortunately, the dog seemed rather apathetic, and considerably less threatening. At the man's tension, however, he tilted his ears. Bruce made a scowl that hurt his head, but didn't stick to his mask like he'd been expecting. His heart rapidly developed the habits of a blacksmith, filling each and every vein with steel. He couldn't feel his mask. Frantically his fingers searched his face, his hair, his neck.

Bare.

Naked, exposed, stripped.

Save for his collar bone. Continuing his needy examination he found stitches, on the back of his hand he found an IV. On his ribs he found bandages, on his leg more stitches and some sort of antiseptic jelly by the smell and feel of it. Was this…? What was this? Where was his ignorance? The numb caused by ripping his body into pieces, by crucifying his humble alias, by Rachel's death, and Dent's fall to earth that was so forceful he shattered it and went straight to hell? He tried to will it all back, pull it to him so at this moment he would not care **so much **that someone had seen his face. As usual, fate was not so kind, there was the gentle creek of the door, that produced the reaction of the watchful mutt even though he didn't move, Bruce could distinctly hear the beast's tale thumping against the wood floor. Deciding it was best not for the stranger entering the room to notice his tension so instead he focused it into making a plan the first chance he got to…well the first chance he hoped to get to do something to possibly better this situation.

It wasn't a saucy criminal sauntering confidently into the room, nor was it a child innocent to the concepts of; secrecy, crime fighting, and darkened heroes. Something in between. A woman. Full grown, white lace shirt, strange sort of button up sweater filled with pattern, jeans, and mismatched socks. Most importantly, a lowered head. She'd went to the dog, silently offering it something from her hand. The silence save for the dogs sloppy tongue over her palm would have been awkward, if she knew she had any conscious company, and fortuitous circumstance would have it that she would look up at the thought.

Her lips parted as if she'd uttered an 'oh' but no sound wandered to his hearing abilities. The bat watched her with a stony expression he usually wore under the mask. But he himself was having a bit of an identity crisis with that himself. Given if she knew both his faces, which one should he put on? This was all unnecessary given she'd made a jerking motion toward the door, as if she was going to fear in flight.

Directly assuming the worse; that she was not in fact the one who brought him here and was frightened he was awake because she was supposed to have retrieved her superior before he'd woken, Bruce did something that would no doubt deserve the guilt that would well up in him later.

Used to fighting through physical and emotional pain that would paralyze a lesser man, the blankets were hardly a problem, neither were the wide steps he'd taken, nor was the form of a creature with arms half the width of his own, and the IV was thankfully on a stand with wheels so it didn't rip from his arm. She jolted in wide-eyed pain as she was thrown against the wall, her lower back nearly impaled by the doorknob now jammed into her right kidney area. But there was no sound above a dull thump, he was careful to do it silently, and furthering that theme, he'd clasped a hand over her lips that nearly covered half of her face. Breathing hard as he recognized that pain of newly sewn wounds stretching on skin unusually taught, he allowed himself to lean on her also to ascertain she didn't have any weapons.

She did not whimper, or close her eyes, or grace him with shaking, but there was no question with her stare that she was most decidedly intimidated.

"Who's out there?"

He asked, his voice slipping in and out of the tone that belonged to the bat, unable to comprehend who he wanted to be in this situation. She shook her head immediately, and he realized dimly she was waving her hand at the dog who had started in a threatening growl, one he'd heard before.

Of course, this was the owner of the canine who'd stood in front of him, and the pair of men he'd witnessed before. All right, well that explained that. He searched her eyes for surprise or fear, but in all likelihood if she was the owner of the dog, and the one who found him here, she was not in work of some higher power that existed behind the off white door. Releasing her mouth, and some of the pressure on her body the pair stared at each other. He; at her eyes, and she, somewhere near his nose…then forehead…then over his shoulder, then his mouth, then up. Realizing she wasn'going to say anything was when she looked down within herself, no doubt pulling herself into her mind, her tongue running over her bottom lip as if to ensure that it was free.

"Who are you?"

He inquired as Bruce now, though his tone uncharacteristically harsh next to the usual velvet. Her lips parted, in small quivering motions before she shut her eyes, and given the lack of space he could distinctly sense her heart speed. It took a second for her to make the slightest of sounds, and even then it was nothing intelligible. Fuzzy from blatant bewilderment he came to the conclusion with wide eyes; she had a stutter. And a rather awful one at that given she was instantly beginning to panic when she couldn't force a word out of her cherry lips. No doubt, being pressed against the door wasn't helping for any nerves that often made a stutter worse. But he could not let pity quell his heart. Instead, he cooled his voice and put additional space between the two of them as the dog to his right whined at the image before him, no doubt testing the waters. She'd waved at him again, and Bruce determined it would be best to ask yes or no questions to sate his curiosity. He couldn't keep standing forever, he was on one leg, and it was the side of his body with the broken ribs.

"Do you know who I am?"

A nod. She hadn't moved from the door looking as if he'd hung her on a hook by the back of her shirt. Bruce sighed.

"Is there anyone out there?"

A shake of her head. And somehow, he believed her, even though she didn't make a word, and she didn't even try to make eye contact he didn't really have much of a choice. He was safe now, with probably one of the few people in this city that would have saved him without wanting to offer him up for blood. He'd cleared away from her at this point, though completely not satisfied with the conversation he made the move to simply sit on the bed. The stranger, however, had different plans. For she'd moved much more elegantly this time, disappearing quietly behind the open door and shutting it with a click.

After at least a half an hour, he'd leaned against his borrowed pillow. He went through paranoia, acceptance, burning-eyed need for sleep, curiosity, nausea, grief, and acceptance of everything yet again, and then he felt…fidgety. Briefly, he'd wondered how long he'd been out. But he also needed a bathroom. Testing his legs, on the floor to see if he'd bothered anything he now came to notice that he was not, in fact rid of his suit entirely. The armor was gone, but the one who stitched him up had been so kind as to slip back the lining of his pants over his legs. It was…painful, but manageable.

He'd opened the door with caution that would not easily been thrown into the wind. And it wasn't much of a surprise that the dog followed him. Even while standing, it still came up near mid thigh on his rather lengthy form. Brushing up against him with a closeness he did not expect given the lack of wagging tale it probably wasn't of affection. Wondering its purpose he'd found himself in a kitchen. These homes, when originally built had been family oriented. Averaging on two to three bedrooms, with a charming kitchen and a sitting room they were homey and comfortable. But the poverty had stretched its lustful fingers out to even here. Now, you didn't raise families in these homes often . Most fell into disrepair, or controlled by much less conventional means of societal family. This however was, for lack of a better word; charming. It smelled like a home. One that was cooked in, slept in, and cared for. The walls were all painted with Victorian stenciling, not wall paper like one could assume given it's precision. The texture beneath his feet was only linoleum, but had the smell of lemon like it had recently been washed. There was a large ceramic tree without leaves off in the corner with notes attached to it he couldn't read from where he was standing, mostly due to the fact that even in here, everything was lit with candles. The habit usually associated with romance or perhaps being amish, was more practical given they were organized in pairs of two or three at a time in places where it was deemed necessary.

On the circular table, his eyes picked up the sight of a plate covered with a pot lid. Taking in the details, he'd also made the note that the door to the outside was double bolted, but no guard, no tripwire. Nothing, it appeared to be his own decision whether to leave or not. Not exactly what one would expect to find in Gotham's underbelly. But he couldn't leave when the thought of his identity was compromised. Now; everyone hated him. It didn't matter if he fell into civilian hands, the mob's, or the officials. So…What was the real circumstance?

The door across from him, painted a dark blue, opened cautiously having no doubt heard his door open as well. She'd taken off the sweater. There wasn't any heating in the house from what he could notice, but the candles kept it warm. Appearing much more comfortable from the other side of the room eyes of a currently indiscernible color observed him from the other side. Finding him stationary and silent, she'd suddenly broken into the sort of smile that would weaken the knees and strengthen the heart of anyone he could think of.

"I'm glad your up, I figured you wouldn't stay down for long…"

Her voice was even, cheerful. With the tone that suggested she thought of everything she said before it escaped her lips. Gesturing to the table she pointed out what he'd questioned before.

"It's for you, but only if you want it. I would suggest you eat but-"

"Who are you?"

He'd questioned again. The smile faded, her tongue running across her bottom lip as she'd done before.

"Rebecca."

"Rebecca…?"

" Rebecca Michelle Harth"

Going through the files of names in his head to attempt to match a name and therefore perhaps a purpose to the strange set of cards having dealt themselves, she surprisingly interrupted him.

"Born September 13 1987, no arrests or misdemeanors, I was not Gotham raised."

Listening to her, he'd had a shift of heart and took a seat at the kitchen table. Even the hardwood of the chair was soothing to a man recovering form injury.

"Where did you learn to treat people?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

The confidence that she had now, in comparison to the woman in his room made the well trained vigilante both curious and paranoid. She was…pretty. Very pretty. And even though he knew she was biased, given for the time being she was the only reason he was stitched and clean at the moment, he knew that 'pretty' might not have cut it. She looked like a doll, nearly untouchable. She looked like a babysitter a child would have a crush on. He could see her as a woman who got married to her childhood sweetheart of fifteen years. Was it this that dulled his sense to danger? Was he deep in a trap he couldn't get out of? The mob didn't go for this affect, and neither did any villain he'd encountered. Then again, he'd never seen a person with a face like hers outside of a criminal either. As she skimmed her tongue over her bottom lip yet again, he found himself mirroring the action, his mouth stuck with thirst, his stomach hollow, and he was reminded yet again of his need to find the bathroom.

"**My baby brother had ****a neurological disorder that he could not feel pain. We don't live with our parents so I had to take care of him, you learn things faster under those circumstances."** **Her eyes had lowered again, he'd sucked the confidence out of her without meaning to. But she didn't look to be contemplating, or upset. Just, vacant for a moment.** "**Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis…"** **He'd muttered, catching her interest immediately once more.** "**Since he couldn't feel pain…he'd probably inflicted some pretty awful wounds on himself."** "**Yes…well, taught me fast. But uh-"** **She smiled lightly, the grin a bit sheepish. The dog had abandoned his side, nudging into hers instead. How was this the creature with the harsh bark of a voice he'd heard in the alleyway? Bruce couldn't label it. She was probably as good about throwing her voice as he was.** "**Never had to use morphine before, so you were kind of my guinea pig."** **She laughed, the sound was nervous but managed to stay pleasant. Rebecca's ease was nearly infectious, and the dim light of the candles made it all seem a bit more surreal.** "**I believe, I gave you too big of a dose the first time, I miscalculated your weight while you were still in that suit. But I mean, I couldn't move you when you were like that…I just didn't want you to wake up and start swinging, you know?"** **He nodded, but stood.** "**Bathroom?"**

**Until the sun bled into the night, alerting the pair to morning, their words ran easily. As the conversation continued, he noted her oddities. This wasn't a person that talked at length, and she often stared into space, or got distracted midway through sentences. Unfortunately, he was unable to write it off as stupidity because she was truthfully sharp as a tack just…scatter-brained to the umpteenth degree. The only way he could label it was that she acted a bit like an elderly person; infinitely kind, a little nutty, easy to talk with, but it was the quiet way she held her tea and the way she couldn't stand any sort of silence that unnerved him. He'd previously thought that she'd instantly found liquid courage given the accent of the stutter had evaporated. But the chocolate eyes of the vigilante missed very few things. And he spotted all of her physical habits that took over when she wasn't stutter. She spun the ring on her finger, licked her bottom lip, didn't make worthy eye contact, tapped her fingers, chewed on her bottom lip…yes the list went on and on. And he couldn't detail it all given his obvious exhaustion which she did not fail to notice. She'd gotten him to eat the scrambled eggs she made previously. Though when questioned about why scrambled eggs, she justified that they were easy on the stomach and good for those who wanted to build strength. ** **The dog returned to his side when he'd stood, his slightly shaking hands recognized his melon sized head and understood the dog was trained to help the injured stand. Applying just enough pressure to make it easy for himself the massive thing hardly even flinched. He was now strongly considering investing in a dog for a sidekick…perhaps even this one. As he rose, his hawk like features glanced down to his unlikely caretaker. This whole thing was, absurd. She wasn't the only one who was awkward here, this man with two bodies trying to fit in both skins at once. Who was he in this room? ** "…**How can I believe, that you will not fetch someone and tell them you've caught the batman?"** **She raised her eyebrows.** "**Are you trying to tell me…you're the batman?"** **She'd replied purposely, taking a sip of her tea.** **Regardless of her lack of training, and his lack of not knowing her for the majority of her life she was the ideal nurse. She supplied books for him, and the paper. Food when he needed it, and clothes that didn't fit, but didn't matter.** **She watched him easily from across the room, she didn't feel comfortable approaching anyone, much less likely an undeniably attractive man who could catch her in a strangle hold before she could protest. His dark stare was nerve-wracking but his company was desirable. It had been a long time sicne anyone had joined her, he was consistently different than anyone she'd treated before. Without the heart to inform him that the bounty for his head was chilling she observed him with the tendency of a mother hen. There were times when he would look off for so long she'd thought he might physically fall into himself and the whole his life had created. Her lips practically split at the seems from attempting to hold back the questioning she longed to release. But patience was kind, and sweet. Upon her much more successful dose of morphine to release him of the stitches in his neck was one of the hours that his sculpted face twisted up in on itself into a scowl. Thoughtfully, her blue green eyes traveled to his profile, but took immediate reversion back to his wound.** "…**the last woman to know who I was, both of me, is gone now. Not even two weeks ago."** **He'd informed her silently causing the makeshift nurse to blink.** "**What was she like?"** **She queried him calmly, not fully expecting an answer. He didn't bother to inform her that he didn't need any painkillers to be stitched up, he doubted she'd accept the circumstance of having to cause him pain.** "**She was so…I don't know. Warm. And smart. She had these big blue eyes and the softest hair you'd ever feel."** **He swallowed. Having drawn her hands away from the now pink and slightly angry looking line on his neck which would no doubt be fully healed in a mtter of time, she was silent, watching him from the place that she sat next to him on the edge of the bed.** "**She died, you know. I didn't save her…couldn't save her."** **He was amazed at the pressure of tears that flamed up forcefully behind his eyes. His low voice was a distant rumble, and she watched him, transfixed on this astounding person so deep in his grief he was hardly recognizable.** **Realizing that was what he had to say on the matter, his face turned toward the candle at the nightstand, she went to the stitches on his leg. Somehow making even the action of rolling up his pant leg seem un-invasive and careful.** **On the tenth day, he touched the keys of a piano in her room. It was the tenth day, and this was his first time entering her sanctuary. Here was where she got the books. One of her walls was painted navy, and drawn over repeatedly with chalk judging by the notes written over it in clean white scrawling. There were books, and a piano. Not a grand one, like the one he kept on display in his own echoing household, but enough to remind him that it was time he got home.** "**Did you ever find my motorcycle, by chance?"** **He'd asked out of the blue, the silence permeated by the high tone of the key his finger pressed against. Anyone else, and he would have assumed no, but with her… She'd watched him awkwardly, not fully comprehending why some billionaire wanted to witness her bedroom. And she was hoping, praying out a mantra, he wouldn't look to carefully at the occasionally embarrassingly private note she'd written out on her wall.** "**Yes…um. It's in the cellar. I locked it up."**

**He offered her a warm smile. They didn't need batman anymore. But Bruce Wayne was something different. He was a provider for the city, an image that needed to be upheld. It was time he left.** "**Why do you keep candles lit?" ** **She shrugged.** "**It's better for the environment, I try not to use electricity."** **He nodded, the smile sticking.** **She understood, as he knew she would. That it was time for him to stretch out his batwings once more. Though, it would be difficult to smuggle out a bat suit. ** "**Well, I could deliver it to you later. You know…when you require it again."** **She'd said it so cheerfully. Like it was an honor instead of a coat of arms. Perhaps, to some eyes, it still was.** "**I'm worried about leaving you alone, the pair you stopped from having me my first night here…you didn't kill them. They might gain some brains and come after **_**batman's **_**accomplice."** **She frowned slightly, her mouth puckering. ** "**I couldn't kill somebody."** **And left it at that. Not 'I couldn't kill somebody for that reason' nor 'I couldn't kill somebody who didn't try to kill me' or any sort of justification. Hitting another key, he then let it slip off the side, walking toward her with his hands in pockets uncharacteristically big for him.** "**Well, if that's the case, you're going to be thoroughly overwhelmed that anyone who catches wind of you helping me…Not all people are so concerned with that little dose of morality."** **She held up her hands. ** "**I've done all I could, and I did it the way I thought was right. I don't need any more protection than that."** "**I disagree."** **He informed her grimly.** "**I suppose you're just going to have to come stay with me."** **Bringing her eyebrows in slightly, she processed the suggestion for tones of sarcasm.** "**Your dog is, of course, perfectly welcome."** **She cracked open a smile, and the distinct weight of a solved problem eased the strain on the dark knight's burdened back.**

I have this story planned from beginning to end, so I really expect to finish it in good time. I hope you're all enjoying it, I was inspired by some recent fanfiction I read to write a Dark Knight story. If you have comments or questions, please let me know. And next chapter will include some Joker time for sure, locked away in his Arkham cell with no connection to the outside world…if you'd like to believe that, of course, ha! Things are going to be pretty quick getting picked up, so don't you worry.


	3. The Birdy in Arkham

Imagine; you'd known the nearly stoic boy all throughout the stages of his childhood, teenage age, and then adulthood. You'd put your hand on his shoulder that was barley half the size of your palm at the time. The first time he'd gotten into a scuffle with a ruffian, you'd watched the color of his honey eyes change to something much darker. As he took on the family heirloom; mostly in the form of money, he put it to uses his parent's hadn't yet dreamed of. You questioned the shift from a purposeless life to one that was dedicated to purging the streets with an unlikely hero of sorts. But most of all, you'd supported him, loved him, and raised him.

Now, it had been eleven days since Alfred had caught any glimpse of the grim man or his bat alias. Repeatedly, he'd made breakfast every morning to bring it down to the hide-out when the master wasn't tangled up in his off white sheets. He'd halfheartedly plan lunch, just in case. And then completely forgotten dinner. Eleven days of this and his cultured finger was running along the rim of a wine glass, going over everything he'd come to know. He had the pieces of what had happened around him, and knowing it to be untrue didn't change the fact that Bruce had lost near everything. How was one supposed to fill the space that the death of the woman he'd lost to a terrorist? Or to patch up the void left by the self destruction of hope? He wanted to assume that Mr. Wayne had every ability to persevere. But putting himself up for the crimes of five deaths, including that of Harvey Dent also gave the persistent notion there was a chance he might disappear entirely. Ms. Dawes might have been correct to assume that there might never be a day where Bruce would not be Batman.

Taking a sip of the red wine, the old butler uttered a sigh, his shoulders high in a perfectly sculpted sense of dignity. He'd hoped that with whatever his master was doing, it was meant to fill some hole.

The next morning, Alfred would receive his answer. And this time, it appears his breakfast would not be wasted. And in fact, he'd have to adjust its serving size; which he would do so with the utmost happiness.

Under his first impression, he'd thought that Master Wayne had brought home a stray girl. But as they sat there in three separate chairs he noted that it was difficult to place the age of the woman in question. A girlish appearance due to large eyes and fair skin with hair that obviously hadn't lived through many years of the usual straightening, blow drying, and damaging product, but a smooth careful way of speaking that eventually revealed itself sought that she was older.

Bruce had offered her stay here, and he would oblige of course. With a small smile and gentle eyes he'd shown her to her room. The heavy doors shut with a well oiled notion of silence and he made his way back to the lounging man with filmed eyes. There was no question of the turmoil locked in the battered body, though from what he'd seen, Rebecca had done an infinitely more careful job than Bruch would normally offer himself.

Moving to bend at the waist to relieve Bruce of his empty cup the Butler's patient silence was enough to provide his master the voice he needed.

"Do you think I made the right choice, Alfred?"

Pausing in his movements, the elderly man turned a twinkling eye toward his long time employer.

"Now you know I can't answer that, Master Wayne."

A bitter smile greeted the older man's words, though Bruce stared only at his hands.

"I couldn't leave her there…Not when she knew who Batman was. How can I trust her?"

Alfred offered a nod.

"If I may be so bold, I believe you already must have figured that you could do just that."

Slowly, the dark optics raised to the blue ones. Despite his injuries the boy made no face at rising to his feet from the addictive feel of the leather couch he'd been sitting on.

"How do you figure?"

Holding the cup before him, Alfred offered the hardened young man an encouraging smile.

"Well, sir, she's hardly a prisoner here."

The Wayne manor was not a small house by any means, nor was it without it's intimidation factors. The stutter that Bruce had now come to recognize from the little lady, came in points of nervousness, or fear. Naturally, one could assume that a person with that sort of speech impediment would have some level of awkwardness or the annoying habit to draw inward.

The thought kept him up, and woke him more than twice in the one night.

It was banished rather quickly, when he found the un realistic scene before him in the massive expansive of his living room the next morning.

"…_.__story of boy meets girl. The boy, Tom Hansen of Margate, New Jersey, grew up believing that he'd never truly be happy until the day he met the one…."_

The blaring sound of the tv was uncustomary in the Wayne household, especially so early in the morning. Granted, it was well past noon now, but it was still an early morning for Bruce.

"_The girl, Summer Finn of Shinnecock, Michigan, did not share this belief. Since the disintegration of her parent's marriage she'd only love two things. The first was her long dark hair. The second was how easily she could cut it off and not feel a thing_."

And along with the narration of some movie he could not name, was the all too clear tone of a woman he'd hardly come to know. She was standing in front of the tv, marching on bare feet over the marble floors with a convincing voice that went along exactly in time with the male narration on the television set.

"… Tom meets Summer on January 8th. He knows almost immediately she is who he has been searching for. This is a story of boy meets girl, but you should know upfront…"

Her voice was now heard more clearly even than the screen and speakers of a projection screen that now played the image of what appeared to be the very beginning of a film.

"…this is not a love story!"

She shouted out, now fully in view of the captain of the household she was currently parading herself in. comically enough, she hadn't gotten into the clothing that she'd arrived in. Instead, she'd opted for a pair of plaid pants that looked like ones he'd owned at one time before he'd outgrown him in his youth, her shirt was one he more easily recognized as one of his pajama shirts. With her back to him, she'd proclaimed at the tv,

"Hah! You are wrong, sir narrator. This is the truest example of love I've yet to see."

The opinionated declaration was followed with a rather superfluous gesture, emphasized by the fact she'd ended the speech with sliding across the impeccable floor.

"Good movie, I'm guessing?"

Bruce politely intervened causing an…amusing turn of personality. Shrinking into herself, she'd sat down on the floor, and then laughed uncomfortably squirming like a worm at being caught in her own personality.

It was his first time seeing her in real light. And hers seeing him in person in full. After all, pictures hadn't done him justice. Her face flushed with embarrassment but the bright smile coating her face was honest as could be. Eyes that glittered with mirth that the candlelight of her home had hinted at, observed the billionaire in his pajamas.

"Good to know that it's not just my house that you'd sleep most the day."

She teased, the volume leaving her words, but not the energy.

"Ah, Master Wayne."

A voice greeted him from the door, Rebecca's eyes stayed on Bruce even as he'd turned, his body language distinctly relaxed.

"I was almost giving up on you; will it be breakfast again, or some lunch?"

Bruce offered a hint of a smile, glancing back dimly at Rebecca with a look perfectly designed to weaken any woman's core.

"I think we're going out to eat."

The statement was true, at least when he said it. Bruce could buy her a dress, any dress really. Or she could go into her pajamas to a small place for some well crafted food. Of wine, and as many scrambled eggs as she wanted in the mid afternoon. Offering Alfred the day off, given he'd expected to woo her with other flashy Bruce Wayne frivolity, he found his plans dampened when he'd finished talking to his old Butler as he looked back to the girl who'd now taken her eyes off of him and back to the screen. Eyes opened wide, mouth parted, and a stray lock out of place blew incredibly softly with each light breath she took from it's fortunate place resting over the center of her face.

"Would you like to go in my old pajamas, or something a bit more fitting?"

He'd prompted, brushing back his dark hair thoughtfully from the aquiline structure of his face.

"Uhm…"

She'd repeated thoughtfully, though by the look in her eyes, the statement was deceptive in tone given there wasn't the sound of a whole lot of intelligent thought going off. There was a long pause that made him feel a little bewildered, maybe having misread the look she gave him, or maybe she'd already forgotten what he'd asked.

"Have you seen this movie?"

She'd queried with a dim chirp, head turning slightly toward him from her spot on the floor but her eyes not betraying the screen of her attention.

"Uh…"

A bit thrown, he frowned, though the look was more of contemplation than any disappointment.

"Well would you like to?"

She'd prompted, looking at him with eyes nearly ridiculous in their hopeful communication. That's how he'd found himself in his home for the majority of the day. Seated on a leather couch that tended to suck people in the moment they relinquished their bodies to it's hold. Halfway through the movie, she'd run off when the main character was saying something she found particularly awkward, she'd run off to his kitchen, bare feet making a pattering noise that seemed to echo even til she returned, rocketing heself back at the sofa and offering him salted peanuts.

When Alfred had returned from his two hours worth of 'day off' he briefly walked in on a moment where a man and a woman, both still in their pajamas. Were laughing on the couch, surrouned by mashed up peanut shells. To be fair, Ms. Harth was the only one who was laughing audibly, but the wide grin and the glinting hues that Mr. Wayne currently owned were the equivalent of another man roaring in laughter til he could no longer breathe. Silence was the key, as he continued on into the parlor leaving the two alone.

"Well what do you mean it was boring?"

She'd prompted him, wiping her eyes at the mirth previously displayed on her face.

"Okay, well, not _boring_ but I mean…nothing happened. You knew the ending the whole time of the movie!"

Screwing up her face Bruce supposed that there was an amazingly witty response that would once again floor him and force him to recognize that this woman was exceedingly intelligent. In his own defense he put a large hand over her mouth for the second time in his twelfth day of knowing her.

"It was a good movie, don't worry, I won't make you defend its honor."

She'd noticeably flinched at being touched, but upon feeling the smile curl up beneath his palm he released her.

"…Don't you have something batty to do tonight?"

She inferred easily. The surprise and twist of conversation. The lack of segue or visible thought process left him reeling. Noticeably, his face drained of its warmth.

"Ah, well, you don't watch the news much, do you?"

With a shake of her head, he was filled with the revelation that this was a conversation he could avoid completely and be a bit more forceful in his prodding to take her shopping or for food other than packaged nuts, or he could open up to the only person who'd known his secret save for Alfred and Rachel. He found himself mimicking her action by licking his lower lip slowly, preparing his mouth for a story.

Repeatedly pulling and tugging on the inside of his cheek with aggressive set of stained teeth, his chin twisted around to lead the motions of his face, his eyes spinning up in his lids momentarily. This was the worst part of the night. When even the most simpering patient was silent and he was plunged into dark that even affected the white room. He was nothing but a smear in it's wake. His hair heavy with grease, and his makeup nothing but an oily blob of features covering his visage. It was an awkward day for asylums, especially in Gotham. It wasn't just nutters, people had to worry about. It was the homicidal and suicidal tendencies. The inability to contain anyone from hurting themselves or escaping. Insanity; those dubbed as insane were all potentially manipulative things. He himself should know. A wide grin spread over his face, he turned his face up briefly to a ceiling he couldn't see. If people weren't crazy before coming into any of these places, they would be by the time they **left. **

His position remained stationary even as he witnessed the distinct sound of a card swipe and footsteps made by soft soled shoes that met the safety padding on his _homey _floor.

"I'm _honore__**d**_ that the people of Gotham…Have provided me with all their precious money; to allow me to live in such conditions…"

A callous giggle bubbled from his diaphragm up to his lips, the sound fading to a-

"Haha…Hah…._haaaa._"

The visitor looked at the back of him, she may be as blind in the dark of his room as he was, but his presence was unmistakable, even without the laugh, he could be felt the moment he was in the same room as you. There was this quaking in her chest that made her perfectly able to envision each of her heart's contractions beneath a delicate rib cage. Though a bit heavier on her curves than any model would dare dream of having, her face was pretty If a little plain. He'd seen her once in the light and could assess the rest from the one time she'd been stupid enough to release his hands from their bindings. He felt like he was starting to take her into his lengthy arms and **squeeze **her till her ribs cracked. But that was impractical. He couldn't let instant pleasure get in the way of the _message._

"We've gotten information…on the last sight of the batman."

She'd uttered, and his attention piqued. The smile grew, his eyes delving all the power of their oppressive stare on the ceiling. His silence was met with uncertainty and the sound of a nervous woman clearing her throat.

"Uh well uh…"

"I'm **listening**!"

He bellowed in the midst of her infuriating stuttering. He could almost feel the tremors in the air from her physically flinching away from the harsh growl of his voice which ended in a giggle. Her words streamed out, sounding like she was barely keeping up with them, her own fear like a hidden tripwire over all her sentiments.

"H-he was spotted by a Vincent Maroni- Sal Maroni's son, and a friend of Mr. Maroni's son…They were in the Gotham Narrows, he was just…there. After Dent probably. He'd passed out in the _street_"

The voice spoke easily of her appall, and the joker had frozen; not wanting to knock the shaky woman off her track but inwardly seething in the image of his greatest nemesis falling from mere flesh wounds.

"…They'd managed to drag him to a warehouse, and they were going to make the call. But apparently this dog showed up. Big, huge thing, took a bite out of Vincent-"

"Like a beagle?"

The nasally sound of his teasing voice made her breath catch in her throat. The laugh that repeated again filled the room, as it filtered into the air, dispersing into silence. Hesitantly she continued, not used to his strange sense of humor but found it was best not to feed it attention.

"The dog was…protecting the bat. Then this _woman _showed up, the owner of the dog, and shot him in the arm when he attempted to shoot the dog."

There was no trace of laughter now, he was paying attention.

"She threatened the other with the same gun…told them to get the hell out. They hauled ass, but when they returned, the bat was gone, and the motorcycle was as well."

The jack-o -lantern's grin became astoundingly wide, his face crinkling up to the point where the scars nearly vanished in the wake of his smile.

"He has, uh, an _accomplice."_

The words were uncharacteristically soft, tender. While the quisling nurse held her breath, his came in sharp pants.

"Have you found out, uh, who she is?"

His tone was relatively conversational, deceptively calm now.

"Rebecca Harth…But that's not all."

His cackle reverberated in her skull and around her head, her chest tightening in fear of some excitement that wasn't even meant for her.

"Not **all**? How could there be _more? _This is perfect, he really can't stay away from any woman, can he?"

Another cackle nearly knocked him backwards, his ab muscles contracting under his strait jacket from their previous lack of use.

"Oh, and he does have such good taste, I'll have to meet her, I will…"

The volume drained from his tone, but there was something else now. A conviction, a snarl of lustful intrest.

"Please, Joker…She's disappeared from her home. By the time that it was reported and figured out who she was…She was gone."

"**What?**"

The bark of the question forced another wince from her. Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead to keep the sweat that had popped up on her skin from going into her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to run and go home. But the sight of her son sitting amidst men in clown masks held her still.

"But she was seen again yesterday, out in Gotham city…with Bruce Wayne."

Her explanation ran into silence, her eyes downcast as she waited. Even she, a woman with little political cares could only begin to see that this wasn't too much of a coincidence. Rachel Dawes, Rebecca Harth. Two women, one after another, had both fallen into the center of a Venn diagram. Both friends to a playboy billionaire, and a masked vigilante.

"Ye**s**-ah. I most certainly…would like to meet her."

She was already backing up toward the door, her card ready and paused in a hand that was near slippery from the fearful perspiration.

"Tell the boys…to, uh, go with the original plan**n**. I'll give you a signal tomorrow, beautiful…."

Already, she'd vanished into the hallway, but not before glancing back as the strip of light that fell in through the opened door revealed the image that would haunt her nightmare. She was horrified to find an overwhelmed sob almost passed her pursed lips, as it lit up the face of the wild hair tinted the color of rotting lettuce, and a smile that split across every pore in his face speaking of nothing but the blood she knew was coming.

"Oh god"

The words came out of her in a compulsive wheezing breath, as she fell down against the window of her car after sprinting into the parking lot and feigning exhaustion to explain the face she'd been wearing when passing the guards.

"God forgive me…"

The shaking sentiment as she shoved the keys into her Kia with shaking hands, wrenching the fading motor to life as she drove at a crawling pace toward Gotham's center.

**I hope you liked this. Feedback is always appreciated. The movie excerpt is from 500 Days of Summer and I don't own it in anyway nor do I own Bruce Wayne/Batman The Joker, Arkham, Gotham or….well, you get the picture.**


End file.
